


His Light

by ChubbyHornedEquine



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Tenderness, idk it just fills me with feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChubbyHornedEquine/pseuds/ChubbyHornedEquine
Summary: Crowley is a little envious of Aziraphale's divinity, he misses the Light. Aziraphale has some thoughts on that.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 128
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner, Our Own Side, Shinbi34's Recommendations





	His Light

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally done for the Bohemian Zine.

Aziraphale's light shone through him in many ways. His smile was always at the top of the list for Crowley. Beautiful and so genuine, it was impossible to not let a bit of that happiness have an effect.  
  
But there were other ways his holy light, his divinity, peeked through as well. When he crafted a particularly strong miracle, like making the inside of a boat large enough to hold two of every animal. His light had crept through on the edges. Shone in the corners of his eyes. Golden and divine.  
  
Crowley discovered, sometime after the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, that Aziraphale was so full of such love that his divinity literally cracked through him in places. Trails along his hips, his stomach, under his arms, golden stretch marks in places his corporation could barely contain the true beauty of him.  
  
The demon would watch the angel. While he ate, while he read, when he catalogued and took notes on a new text, when he fed the ducks, and he would feel something twist in him, ever so slightly. As a demon, Crowley didn’t have to think long on what that feeling was, he was well versed in all the sins, and he knew what he felt was jealousy. He didn’t miss Heaven, as it was now or as it was Before. But he sometimes missed the beauty that came with the form he once had. Angels were terrifying in their beauty.  
  
Demons were just terrifying.  
  
They were sitting on their bench in the park one cloudy afternoon when Aziraphale’s face twisted into a frown that was more pout than anything else. Crowley looked where the angel had directed the full force of his pout and saw a couple setting up the beginnings of what was probably meant to be a romantic picnic. While Crowley watched them he heard Aziraphale snap and slowly, almost naturally, the clouds parted, allowing a small beam of sunshine to hit directly on the couple.  
  
“Really?” said Crowley, with a tilt of his head.  
  
“Oh please, don’t try to pretend you’re not just as much of a romantic.”  
  
“I don’t go flaunting it at least.”  
  
Aziraphale smiled, putting his palm back on his lap and Crowley noticed a faint web of golden veins cracking across the back of his hand. He reached out and traced his finger tip along them.  
  
“Hmm?” said Aziraphale and then, “Oh dear,” when he looked down. “I really need to be more conscientious about these things. Do you think anyone noticed?”  
  
“No, and if they did, I doubt they would care. Humans don’t blink twice at much of anything anymore.”  
  
“I suppose that’s true.”  
  
He continued to trace his finger along the veins.  
  
“Crowley?”  
  
“Hmm? Oh, sorry, didn’t mean…”  
  
“No, no it’s alright. Only, are _you_ alright? You seemed to be very far away just then.”  
  
He shrugged. Sighed. And then remembered that this was the man he loved, the man he thwarted the Apocalypse with, _for_ , and that they’d promised to not keep things from one another again.  
  
“I miss the Light,” he said.  
  
Aziraphale looked down at his hand, “Oh…”  
  
“I mean, it’s y’know, it’s _fine_. I sure as Satan don’t miss the place. Or the people. I just…I miss, y’know, the, th--ngk--sh…”  
  
The angel beside him only smiled patiently as he waited for Crowley to finish destroying his own words and form a sentence with at least one vowel.  
  
“I miss the _Light_. I miss the beauty. Angels can feel love and I can’t…I don’t,” he sighed. He had promised to communicate more but promising it didn’t make it easy. “I wish…I still had just a bit of it, angel. Just a little. I wish there was still something beautiful in me.”  
  
“Oh, my dear. It hasn’t left you.”  
  
Crowley scoffed, “Angel, if you say something about it being in my heart or some—“  
  
“Oh hush. Here,” he gestured around them, “tell me what you see.”  
  
“Wha?”  
  
“Humor me, please.”  
  
“I’unno. Humans. Being…human?”  
  
Aziraphale let out a deep, dramatic sigh and reached forward, sliding Crowley’s glasses off. “Will you just look around and tell me what you see?”  
  
“Oi,” he said, gesturing towards his glasses, “what if someone sees?”  
  
“Humans don’t blink twice at much of anything anymore, my dear.”  
  
“Hmph.”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“Ugh, I’unno. There’s your happy couple with the picnic.”  
  
“What about them?”  
  
“They’re so obnoxiously in love, for starts. She’s gonna propose to her.”  
  
“Oh? Is she gonna say ‘yes’?”  
  
“Obviously, look at them.”  
  
“What else?”  
  
“Uh,” he scanned the area. “That one there? On the bench ‘cross the way, with the books?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Studying for some kind of presentation. Just brimming with nervous energy, they’re a wreck.”  
  
“Will they do well?”  
  
“Pft, yeah, they love it, whatever it is. Wouldn’t rather be anywhere else or doing anything else.”  
  
“Hmm. What about in the bakery this morning?”  
  
“What about it?” Crowley thought back, “There was just us there. And the, y’know, baker.”  
  
“And? What did you think of their wares? You picked the place after all.”  
  
“I picked it ‘cause I knew you’d like it. The owner went to culinary school and even worked a while in some fancy stupid restaurant, making desserts the size of quarters that some idiot was going to pay triple digits for. They hated it. They left it and opened that little shop. They give away almost as much as they sell. They volunteer at soup kitchens and the like. That kind of love and selflessness is in their food. And I knew you’d be able to taste it.”  
  
Aziraphale was smiling at him. A small, patient smile.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“Did they tell you all that? About their past?”  
  
“Nah, I just, I knew. Just looked at them and it kind of spilled out everywhere.”  
  
The stupid patient smile only grew.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Oh you idiot serpent.” Aziraphale leaned forward placing a hand on Crowley’s cheek, “It’s your eyes, my love. You can’t _sense_ love because you can _see_ it. You see the beauty in this world, the beauty in what humans have to offer, you always have. And _that_ is where your divinity lies. That is where your Light is.”  
  
Crowley wasn’t sure what his chest was doing, but he didn’t like it. Everything had suddenly grown too tight. Too large in his body. He was choking on it, whatever it was. “No…it’s, not it’s not, I’m not…”  
  
“You trace the golden veins on the back of my hand, the marks on my hips, my halo when it shines through, and yet you forget your eyes are golden as well?”  
  
“I…”  
  
“Why do you wear these glasses?”  
  
“Hide ‘em.”  
  
“And?”  
  
He swallowed, the truth of it becoming harder and harder to deny. “…dulls things. Makes ‘em…less bright.”  
  
Aziraphale brushed a thumb beneath his eye and that was when he realized he was crying.  
  
“They didn’t take it from you,” Azirpahale said. “They could never.”  
  
A small part in the very back of Crowley’s mind wondered what he might see if he took his glasses off and allowed himself to look in the mirror. To actually _look_. What parts might he rediscover? What parts might he see with…with love?  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
“M’yeah, just…a lot. Feeling.”  
  
“I understand. Why don’t we head home? There’s a blanket and some hot cocoa with our names on it I think.”  
  
Crowley nodded.  
  
Aziraphale held out his glasses.  
  
He took them, studied them, and slowly folded them closed, placing them in the inside pocket of his jacket.  
  
“Oh?” said Aziraphale.  
  
Crowley shrugged, “Think I might…look a little more. Just for a little.”  
  
“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale said with that smile. So wide, so genuine so, oh…so full of love. He pushed to his feet and held out his hand, “As we go, will you tell me what you see?”  
  
He looked up at him. At the bits of his halo that slipped through onto the mortal plane. At the shadow of his wings on the ground. His stupid, pristine bowtie. The worn marks on his waistcoat where the chain to his pocketwatch rested. He looked at that smile. At the crinkle in his eyes. He could see books, pages and pages of literature. He could smell fresh ink and musty bindings. Taste the sweet tang of some dessert or other, a powdering of sugar, a dribble of chocolate. The green leaves of a fresh garden, stones cold with a first rain, the soft scuff of feet as a body moved closer. He could see dancing and sushi and crepes and a ridiculous tartan throw. He could feel the cobble path of a small cottage. Vines on a fence. A garden of herbs and flowers. A reading nook. A kitchen that actually saw use, even though the demonic hands that manned the whisk had little expertise.  
  
He looked up and he saw someone beautiful and full of love.  
  
Beautiful and full of love because they were looking at _him_.  
  
“I’ll try,” he said, taking Aziraphale’s hand.  
  
“Oh, wonderful,” the angel said, placing a gentle kiss to Crowley’s cheek.  
  
They walked. And he looked. And he saw. And with a quiet snap, he miracled his glasses into the back of a drawer in his desk.


End file.
